


skin and ink

by ayykaashi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, akaashi centric, barely any boku but hes there, kurooaka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayykaashi/pseuds/ayykaashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All his life, Keiji wanted to meet his soulmate, the one who gave him all those bruises and wounds years ago. When he finally met him, however, he never thought about what should happen next.</p><p>kurooaka week // soulmates</p>
            </blockquote>





	skin and ink

**Author's Note:**

> i had fun writing this!! even if it feels kinda rushed lol idk
> 
> v v akaashi centric you have been warned;; not much dialogue orz
> 
> pls enjoy! <3

As a young child, Keiji was always fascinated by the idea of soulmates. His mother always boasted the tiny scar on her finger that matched his father’s, saying that his father got it as a child when he and her were classmates in elementary.

His mother would tell him, “Anything that you get on your skin appears on your soulmate’s, and whatever appears on theirs, appears on yours as well,” then proceed to show her finger to him, “See, your father got a paper cut trying to make me origami during class, and when he got the paper cut, it was big and wide, and I got it too.”

Keiji always winced at how his mother seemed to make it a point to emphasize how the wound was like—a child like him just wanted to know about his parents’ love story, not matching scars.

However, it was from that story being repeated over and over again to him from an early age that he was invested in the idea of a partner being bound to him by their skin and what happens to it. He always wondered what type of soulmate would he have—would it be a boy or a girl? An active person like his mother, or a silent person like his father? Would his soulmate want to meet him as much as he wanted to meet him or her? Many questions fluttered about in Keiji’s young mind, and it wasn’t until later on in life, when he moved out of the country side and into the bustling city of Tokyo, did he have any clue about his soulmate.

His soulmate never wrote anything on their skin, not even notes or the obscene little drawings of genitals and curse words kids his age were beginning to know. Keiji used to write on his hands and wrists small class notes to remember, slightly hoping that his soulmate would say something about what he wrote—but he never did. No foreign words appeared on Keiji’s fair skin, none. What did appear, though, were little nicks and bruises on his knees and fingers, some on the arms. Some were big and looked like moles, while some had big scabs when they healed, and had Keiji fearing that they would scar horribly. Although these wounds would make him wince in class or while he was taking a shower, a part of him was ecstatic at the fact he had a soulmate, one who just seemed to not know how to take care of him or herself.

When he told his mother about these little wounds on his body, she told him with conviction that his soulmate was a boy, and asked if he was okay with that. He said he was, and he saw how his father smiled as he read his morning newspaper, scar on the finger clear to the world.

Over time, the little wounds began to decrease, but on some days, he would have red lines around his mid-thigh until his calves, or just until his knees. They didn’t hurt exactly, but sometimes, as he answered the teacher’s question in math class, he would feel something digging into his skin a bit too tightly but not enough to be uncomfortable.

Right before elementary school ended, he decided to take up volleyball as a hobby, taking inspiration from the various posters and live telecasts that were in that one electronics shop that he always passes by when he was going home. He stayed late in the school gym’s, training by himself with the little book he bought from the bookstore with a student discount. Sometimes, he would train with some of the people from the volleyball team, and in a few weeks, he grew more passionate about it and found his calling as a setter.

As he trained, he stopped writing on his skin. He got his own scabs on his knees, scratches on his arms, and burns on his fingers. He thought back to his earlier years in elementary, and felt warm inside when he realized that maybe, or most likely, his soulmate played volleyball too. Having something that binds him to his soulmate made him giddy inside, and his passion for the sport grew more intense.

He may have trained with the club, but he never joined it. When junior high rolled in, however, he decided to try out in his second year, his calculating side telling him to _wait it out_ and _train a bit harder,_ _improve on his serves and his social skills_ because as a setter, he needed to join everyone together. When second year came, he joined and became a back-up setter that still played during official matches. When he became a senior, he became the permanent setter of his team, and nothing made him prouder.

In his third year, he noticed that the red marks on his legs from years ago were from kneepads and the like, when he bought his first knee support for that time he fell after a bad jump toss. The theory of his soulmate being a volleyball player was now firmly planted in his mind, and nothing could change that. He did wonder, though, how was his soulmate like in volleyball? Was he a setter like him? Did his team do better than his? Maybe he was a spiker instead, based on where all the little wounds were from.

Third year came and went a bit too fast, and Keiji was a bit sad that his team never made it too far. He did, however, get a scholarship from a high school that was considered a powerhouse—Fukurodani.

His father urged him to take it, but his mother was worried. She asked if he could stop it now, because she believed that he just got passionate about it when he realized that his soulmate was male. But that wasn’t true, he’d tell her. He fell in love with the sport in his own time and way, soulmate or no soulmate. His wounds were his own, his skin was his own, his love for the sport, was his own.

Keiji, with his slightly tanner skin and rougher hands, took the scholarship and sometimes he wondered why he did. Their team had an emotional ace, and everybody was their own sense of eccentric. He grew to love the team in his own time, and he began to form a bond with the seemingly unreasonable ace and equally eccentric team members, and quickly gained respect from everyone around him. He was a bit blunt, but he was loved all the same.

The last match of the third years of his first year came too early, and quickly, he became vice captain while their ace became the captain. When this happened, he took back to taking notes once more on his hands and arms and wrists, because he knew he couldn’t always keep paper on his body or else he could lose it. He wrote down player facts on his hands, game scores on his wrists, and little owl drawings on the palm of his hands, right where the ball would usually hit whenever he sent a spike down.

Sometimes he looked at his fingers, imagining a scar would come out from one of them like his parents. None ever did.

His first year was about to end when Bokuto-san came up to him one day and taking him by the shoulders, said, “Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi, I got us a practice match with Nekoma! Prepare yourself!”

Keiji blinked and blinked, and at practice that afternoon, he relayed the message to his regulars. Sometimes he was still astounded at how everyone decided to respect a little first year like him, but he wasn’t complaining.

That day, he took down on his hands who would be playing, because their manager wasn’t present. He made a note on what time he should text Bokuto-san to sleep, and made a little motivational note for himself right where his palm met his wrist, coming from an owl with a speech bubble.

“We’ll beat Nekoma tomorrow.”

When he was going home, with Bokuto-san rambling beside him about how he just wasn’t made for algebraic equations, an itch began to start on the back of his hand, meaning that his soulmate was up to something again. He paid it no mind, thinking that his soulmate must’ve gotten another scratch. However, the itch grew worse, and suddenly, there was a stinging feeling on his hand, the same feeling he used to get on his nose and forehead as a child as if his soulmate’s face was hit by something.

He looked at his hand as he stopped walking, Bokuto-san stopping with him. “Akaashi?”

Keiji eyes narrowed at what was on his skin, but he couldn’t help feeling elated that finally, his soulmate acknowledged him. “Bokuto-san, it looks like our opponent tomorrow will be troublesome.”

He showed Bokuto-san his hand, where a drawing of a black cat with fur covering its eye with a speech bubble coming from it. In the bubble were the words, **“We’re gonna kick Fukurodani’s ass tomorrow!”**

“Oho?” Bokuto-san let tilted his head, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he surveyed Keiji’s hand. “We’ll see about that!”

The walk home was filled with energized yelling from Bokuto-san, and butterflies breeding in Keiji’s stomach because his soulmate responded to him for the first time.

That night, he made sure not to scrub his hands too hard in the bath.

In the morning though, it faded slightly, but the outline of the words were still there. It was a weekend, and today, Nekoma was coming over to their school for the practice match.

When the red jerseys were visible from inside, Bokuto-san ran out and jumped the man leading them—a man with hair that Keiji can only describe as bedhead, a smile that seemed so feline-like, and a jaw that looked like it could smash his head into something with just a swing down.

“Kuroo!”

“Bokuto!”

The one called Kuroo dropped his bag and welcomed the tackle with open arms. When they fell to the ground in laughter and grunts, a male with what Keiji called ‘pudding hair’ obviously flinched and went on ahead, clutching his phone tightly. He felt an emotional connection form with said male at the sight.

When Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san finished whatever they were doing, Keiji later on learned from Bokuto-san that Kuroo-san was the team’s vice captain, and the captain was currently sick so he couldn’t make it. The dual-colored hair male was his best friend, Kenma-san, who was also Kuroo-san childhood friend.

It was funny, Keiji thought, that everyone in the team looked or acted somehow like a cat. How fitting.

“Oh? You’re Akaashi, right?” Kuroo-san called him out. Keiji turned and met with the older male sticking a hand out for a handshake, smile in place. “It’s nice to finally meet the pretty setter Bokuto always talks about.” His smile turns cheeky. “Name’s Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Keiji stuck a hand out, firmly shaking the offered hand. “It’s nice to know Bokuto-san thinks of me that way,” he replied nonchalantly, “And it’s nice to meet you, Kuroo-san. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“Keiji?” Kuroo raises a brow, not letting go of the hand. “Your name sounds familiar.”

Keiji could feel a warm sensation running through his fingertips all the way to his arms. “It’s a common name, maybe that’s why.” He slipped his hand away, feeling uncomfortable at the strange sensation running through his bones. “I’ll see you later in the game, Kuroo-san.”

He walked away, fiddling his fingers as he tried to rid himself of the strange feeling. He failed to notice the thoughtful look Kuroo-san had on his face.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji tapped the ace on his shoulder, waiting for him to turn around, “I never knew I was the pretty setter for you.”

It took a moment before Bokuto-san erupted into red, and shouted at Kuroo-san on the other side, “Damn you, Kuroo!”

His snickers reverberated in Keiji’s ears, and Keiji had the urge to scratch his ears.

After a few minutes of warming up, the game between them finally began. The first half of the game was nothing too strenuous, which was taken later on by Fukurodani’s side. However, Keiji noticed how after they got the set, Kenma-san—the setter—began talking to his team as they listened intently. He narrowed his eyes, this set won’t be as easy anymore. He looked at his team and gave a little pep talk—well what could be considered a pep talk for Keiji, which is just some encouraging words while telling his teammates what their mistakes were and ending everything with a smirk—and once the break was done, they went back to the court.

He was right, the second half wasn’t as easy as the first half. They were getting pushed back, and Bokuto-san was getting frustrated already. Konoha-san was sending him looks of warning already, and Keiji can only continue to set and block as much as he can. Bokuto-san kept spiking his tosses, forcibly forcing it down back to their side as Kuroo-san and the others blocked terrifyingly at his spikes. When Keiji felt like the time was right, he tossed once more to the other side, and Bokuto-san ran and spiked with all his power. At the same time, Kuroo-san jumped alone in front of him, a grin on his face that was immediately wiped off when the ball hit his wrist with an ugly sound and flying over to the wall on the side.

Kuroo-san fell with a thud and a gurgle of curses coming out of his mouth.

Keiji bent down a little, hissing and holding onto his wrist that seemed slightly off and was starting to sport a red and purple hue.

Both teams rushed to their respective members, worry clear on their faces. Nekoma requested a time out, and Fukurodani was happy with that as they tended to their own setter.

“What happened, Akaashi?” His coach asked, “Was it a bad toss?”

Keiji could feel Kuroo-san’s gaze on him from the other side. He had a feeling why. “It might be, sir,” he replied softly, “But I can still play.”

“Hand that over,” his coach demanded, and so Keiji did. He could see Bokuto-san fidgeting from the side as their coach examined the trauma on his wrist. A burn was staring to appear as well on top of the trauma, and there was some blood beginning to slide down. He turned it to one side and flinched. His coached looked up at him from the bench. “It’s most likely a sprain, but it could be more. You can’t play like this, Akaashi.”

“I’ll just set.” Keiji replied, keeping his voice even and praying to everything above that his voice doesn’t crack because he wants to play so much. “I won’t block, and I’ll spike without hurting myself.”

His coach hummed. “You’re lucky this isn’t your dominant hand,” he said and Akaashi took his hand back.

“I’ll be okay, sir. I promise.”

“You better be.”

The coach bangaed Keiji’s wrist, and he felt a little happy that somehow, what remained of his soulmate’s words from yesterday were still kind of there.

Time out ended, and the teams were back on the court. Kuroo-san was on the bench, and Keiji could feel catlike eyes following his every move. Keiji could also feel the worried stares of his teammates, but the gaze of the other team’s vice captain was different, and it was pointedly focused on his wrist. He looked over at Kuroo-san’s wrist, and felt his heart beat quicken slightly at the same bandages around his own wrist.

And the faint outline of the drawn cat and speech bubble on the back of his hand.

Throughout the game, Keiji forced himself to focus on his team, and not on the hand that was seemingly taunting him from the other side’s benches. He managed to keep his promise to not block, and only set, so his wrist didn’t suffer too much. Nekoma’s defenses lowered significantly without Kuroo-san, which then resulted in their loss. There were no hard feelings, though, because it was something that couldn’t be helped.

Nekoma didn’t leave immediately, instead choosing to bond with Fukurodani, who was more than happy to bond with a fellow team from Tokyo.

Keiji, however, decided to stay on a bench, resting his wrist. He checked on it, removing the bandages and wincing when cold air met the nasty burn. He touched it gently, wincing a bit louder when his nail scratched it lightly. Another wince joined him, and he looked forward.

“Kuroo-san,” Keiji nodded, “How’s your wrist?”

“Dude, I could ask the same.” Kuroo-san took a seat beside Keiji, his other hand holding his water bottle. “How could you still play after that sick thing?”

“I’m not a blocker like you, Kuroo-san, I could manage,” Keiji shrugged, “And besides, I’m the only setter right now of the team. They need me.”

Kuroo placed his elbows on his knees, bent his lower body and looked at Keiji straight in the eyes. “Yeah, I get that,” he replied, voice stern, “But think about others, will you? Your soulmate could feel that burn, y’know?”

Keiji bit his lip at the mention of his soulmate. He looked back at Kuroo-san, fear and anticipation making a dance in his belly. “How bad is it?”

“You tell me.” Kuroo unwrapped his bandage, and showed Keiji his wrist.

He placed his wrist right beside Keiji’s, his tanned, bulky, wrist slightly complimenting Keiji’s thin, slightly tanned one. They had the same burn, the same trauma, on the same spot. On the back of their hands was the same cat drawing, speech bubble and faded words, and on their palms were the words Keiji wrote just yesterday, slightly blending into the skin in a faded navy blue. Keiji’s eyes trailed downward to Kuroo-san’s elbow and his own, where a scar that was obviously Kuroo-san’s trailed into the inside crease. They had the same little, faded spots on their arm, signs that there were once wounds that scabbed over time and haven’t completely faded.

The fear in Keiji’s stomach melted away, and anticipation turned into excitement. His heart made its way to his throat and ears, beating loudly at the new revelation. His brain paused for a moment, before thinking up scenarios and giving him an epiphany. “I can’t believe that the soulmate I’ve wanted to meet for so long would be of Bokuto-san’s friends. An idiot,” he blurted out.

“Hey now, that’s mean, Akaashi!” Kuroo-san called out, a small pout forming on his lips. “I always imagined that when I meet my soulmate, it’d be so romantic and all. I didn’t expect that, y’know,” he looked down, “I’d meet him at a volleyball game where we’d have matching burns and sprains maybe.”

“First impressions last, Kuroo-san, and my first impression of you earlier clearly tells me that you and Bokuto-san are both idiots,” Keiji deadpanned, “And don’t pout, you look weird.”

Kuroo-san held his hand to his heart in a mockingly offended manner. “So mean of you, soulmate! I thought soulmates were supposed to complement each other, like how Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth would! Oh dear, oh me,” he grabbed his shirt to complete the drama, but winced when his burn rubbed against his jersey.

Keiji winced as well.  “So dramatic, Kuroo-san, too dramatic, actually.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Kuroo scratched his cheek.

The two sat in their own silence as their team members bonded on the court and in the area outside. The silence lasted a bit longer before Kuroo broke it. “Hey, Akaashi?”

“Hm?”

“Do…do you want to be in a relationship right now?”

Keiji blinked, thinking it over. “I…actually don’t know.”

He looked at Kuroo-san, who bit his lip. “I…me too. I don’t really wanna get in a relationship yet, if that’s okay with you.”

Keiji expected his world to come down with those words, because in a way, it was rejection. But his world didn’t crash, and he didn’t feel anything negative swell in his chest. All this time, he was excited to meet his soulmate, but he never really thought about what he wanted to be with them. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be with them immediately just because they’re soulmates, and he knew that if he got in a relationship so early on, it won’t be good for either of them.

He knew he wanted to know his soulmate, to meet them the way his parents met each other. But then what? He met his soulmate now, and then?

He fiddled with his fingers, collecting his thoughts.

“It’s okay, Kuroo-san,” he replied, a small smile on his face, “I don’t really know what to make of this yet, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to start off as friends first.”

 Kuroo-san gave a smile of his own, and it made Keiji feel a bit fuzzy inside. “Yeah, that’d be great, Akaashi. Thanks.” He said. “And actually me too. I always wanted to meet my soulmate but, like, I never really knew what came after that?”

Keiji nodded in agreement. “I feel the same way.”

“So you’re okay with this, yeah?” Kuroo-san gave a smile.

“Yes, I am.” Keiji gave a smile of his own. Kuroo-san began to redden at the ears. “If it’s okay then, can we exchange phone numbers?”

Kuroo-san blinked, and gave a grin. “Oh? So you can hear my voice all the time because you’ll miss me?” He wiggled his brows. “I knew soulmates needed each other but—“ Keiji stood up.

“Nevermind, I don’t need it.”

“Shit, Akaashi, I’m sorry!”

As Keiji walked away, he felt a smile come up his face. He bandaged back his wrist and tried to calm the fuzziness in his stomach and chest. His nose felt warm along with his cheeks and he finally let out his smile.

_‘I’ll have to ask Bokuto-san later for Kuroo-san’s number.’_

Later that day, when he asked for Kuroo-san’s number, the two began to text on days where they didn’t have training. Keiji’s first year ended on a better note than that of his third year of junior high. His parents were happy that he met his soulmate, and that he decided to take things slow and get to know him.

Kuroo-san was now a third year, and Keiji was in his second year, and it was going _great_. They communicated over texts and video calls more often, because both didn’t have enough time or money to see each other. This continued on, and over words exchanged through virtual bubbles and stickers, and static and grainy versions of themselves on calls that could last from three minutes to three hours, the bond between the two grew stronger.

Even so, Keiji still sometimes took to writing on his skin, because that was what he knew the most. Idly in class, he would write anything, and now, Kuroo-san would respond. He would do the same the whenever Kuroo-san made a pun on his skin or whenever he doodled. Keiji’s skin was littered with doodles and words by volleyball practice, but he didn’t mind, and besides, Bokuto-san was always amused with it, which made it all the easier.

Keiji finally knew why Kuroo-san never replied to whatever he wrote back then, and it was because Kuroo-san wasn’t much of a fan of writing on his own skin. Knowing that fact made Keiji laugh alone in his room, because that was a big surprise to him. Kuroo-san, a dork—one who loved science and volleyball way too much—that liked to go outdoors, get down and dirty, liked taking down notes and rewriting them in different colored pens and didn’t like to write on his skin.

The world was full of surprises, and Keiji began to accept them. 

In time, news of the freak duo reached Fukurodani’s ears, along with the rise of Karasuno. Bokuto-san was hyped about meeting them, so when Kuroo-san told Bokuto-san about Nekoma’s plan to invite Karasuno to another training camp with them but this time with the other teams, he dragged the entire Fukurodani team and everyone had no choice but to comply.

As vice-captain, he assisted the managers—thankfully they had another one now—in preparing for camp in terms of materials and possible training schedules. He gave everyone a talk of their weaknesses and what they should aim to improve on during camp, and words of somewhat-inspiration to them before going on to do his business. He texted Kuroo-san about how he’d be excited to see him again in a way that won’t let the other bother him, but he sighed when Kuroo-san started sending emojis and all again with drama.

_Akaaaaaashi, be more happy to see me!_

_I am, Kuroo-san. But at this point, I think I’ll back out._

_Akaashi pls. Love me._

_No._

_Soulmate no._

_Soulmate yes, Kuroo-san. Bye._

It was the day before camp now, and Kuroo-san was constantly bombarding him with texts, memes and stickers now. His phone kept buzzing in his pants as he walked home with Bokuto-san.

“Aren’t you gonna answer Kuroo?”

“No. Because if I do, he’ll annoy me more.”

“Hey, hey, hey now, Akaashi, you’ll make him sad like that!” Bokuto-san pouted.

Keiji glanced at him. “He won’t, trust me, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto-san kept pouting, but then his mood picked up shortly after. “But hey! Aren’t you excited! We’ll meet that freak duo from Karasuno, and we’ll bond with the other guys again, and damn, we’ll see Kuroo again.” He pumped his fist in the air, stopping in his tracks as he grinned. “We’re gonna win all of our sets this time!”

Keiji smirked, feeling the vibes of an ace ready to fight from his captain. “Yes we will, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto-san shot him a grin, and they resumed their walk home. They talked about how the camp would be like this time with another school, and who between them will bring chips for tomorrow’s trip. After a few more conversations, they reached Bokuto-san’s house, and they parted ways.

Keiji stopped in his tracks, just a few more blocks away from his own home. He took out a pen and uncapped it, then began to write on his palm.

“We’ll win every set tomorrow,” he wrote as he spoke softly to himself, drawing an owl.

He didn’t have to wait long and suddenly there was an itch at the back of his hand. He watched as words slowly began to appear on his skin, along with the same drawing of a cat almost a year ago.

 **“If you lose against us, be prepared for punishments,”** the black drawing of a cat seemed to say.

Keiji wrote right below it. “You are my personal punishment, pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-san. It won’t matter.”

The next words on his wrists made his neck feel warm.

**“So you wouldn’t mind if for every set you lose, you’d go on to a dinner date with me?”**

Keiji replied right under it.

“I don’t really to lose to get that punishment, don’t I?”

**“Yeah, I’m taking you out anyway.”**

Keiji smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 im also on tumblr @ akabanyeh c: c:


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